


Sex and Other Scandals

by dragonspell



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Alternate Universe - Politics, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, POV Stiles, Past Rape/Non-con, Sex Tapes, Traumatized Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:33:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4366733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a “fixer”. Every campaign needs one because politicians, regardless of how some like to portray themselves, are only human.  His current employer, Senator Talia Hale, has got one hell of a conundrum, though it's not her fault.  Her son, Derek Hale, has a sex tape, released by an ex-girlfriend, and now Stiles has to stop the scandal before it sinks Senator Hale's reelection chances.  The problem is that he needs Derek on board too but spotlight-avoiding Derek has no intention of doing so.  And Stiles can't help but think that there's something in Derek's past that he's just not sharing because the man is a minefield of potential wrong steps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex and Other Scandals

**Author's Note:**

> This has been marked as "dubious consent." To see why, please read the notes at the end.

Politics is a complicated game. It’s a high-wire act built on word-play, charm, and no small amount of deception. One little misstep and it can all come crashing down on top of you. And, yeah, sure, there’s some policy-making involved, but that really isn’t Stiles’s department. You don’t come knocking on his door if you want to, say, know how trade agreements in Argentina will affect relations with Saudia Arabia.

Stiles is a “fixer”. Every campaign needs one because politicians, regardless of how some like to portray themselves, are only human. And, as part of being human, no matter how sincere, how honest, every now and then, a politician is going to put their foot in their mouth. Or, you know, tweet a picture of their dick. Human things.

Now, Stiles considers himself blessed. See, his current employer, the ever wonderful Talia Hale, California Senator, has yet to solicit a random stranger for sex, assault a reporter, or even be caught lying to the public like Stiles’s previous candidates. No, Talia Hale, California Senator and, dare Stiles to dream, future 1st female president of the United States, only tends to ruffle the feathers of the gun nuts and the anti-conservation people because of her strident policies. Angry extremists Stiles can deal with. In today’s modern world of the internet and social media, nothing is ever truly forgotten and Stiles has put out some pretty epic videos using old clips if he does say so himself.

This, though. This is a conundrum. It’s not Talia’s fault, of course, but it has the potential to hurt her just the same.

There’s just nothing quite like a good sex tape to capture the nation’s imagination, after all.

See, Talia Hale has three children—three gorgeous, heart-breaker children—and Stiles, professional that he is, had sorted each into their own category the moment that he’d been hired on to manage Talia’s new campaign. It’s part of his job after all.

Laura Hale—beautiful, level-headed, and every inch her mother’s daughter—is lawful good. Currently mayor of her hometown of Beacon Hills like her mother before, she’s shaping up to be the 2nd female president of the United States. Stiles is already plotting her career highlights to get her there.

The other daughter, though, Cora? Complete opposite. Stiles has met her only a handful of times and each had left him biting his nails just a little harder. Cora seems to make it her mission to appear as different from Laura as possible. At first, Stiles, chalking it up to typical teenage rebellion, had pegged her as chaotic good. After the last benefit, though, when Stiles had found himself locked in a broom closet for an hour, he’d crossly thrown her into the “sheer evil” camp and hadn’t looked back. If anything, Stiles had thought that it would be Cora that would be giving him nightmare situations to fix and bury.

But, no, that honor goes to her older brother, Derek. A middle child, Derek is quiet compared to his sisters, and tends to avoid the limelight. Stiles hasn’t been able to get a fix on him at all, mostly because he’s rarely had a chance to meet the man, despite the fact that he eats lunch with his mother at least three times a week. Ironically, of the three Hale children, Talia sees Derek the most while Stiles sees him the least. Laura goes out of her way to acknowledge Stiles, shaking his hand and smiling warmly at every benefit and fundraiser while Cora lives to aggravate him, stopping in at the office to demand pens and assorted favors, but Derek? Derek doesn’t seem to care one way or another. He stops by the office rarely, usually meeting his mother in town, and shows up to benefits only if she asks. Mostly, Derek seems content living his own life as an editor of a publishing house. Lawful neutral, Stiles had eventually declared. Derek had seemed like a nice enough guy.

Now, Stiles wants to know where he went wrong. He’s seen the video, of course. As these kinds of things go, it’s not _terrible_. It’s just not good, either. Derek doesn’t spend his time mugging for the camera or even trying to show off. He actually appears to be exhausted and trying to humor his girlfriend. It’s pretty obvious that Jennifer’s the one that set up the recording—she’s the first shot of the film, looking into the camera as she centers it on a bed on the other side of the room. When Derek finally arrives, he slides away from her and flops down on the bed, mumbling about needing a nap. Jennifer pokes at him for a little while, rolls him over and keeps touching him until he gives in and gives her what she wants. He doesn’t look at the camera the entire time and it’s possible that he had no idea that it was even there. At one point, Jennifer obviously wants him to turn around to get a better angle, maybe a shot of his face. She keeps calling him to the end of the bed, but he just refuses and pulls her back up to the pillows. He lets her ride him then curls up and goes to sleep once she’s done. It’s hardly an all out amateur porn star performance. Stiles thinks that if nothing else, he might be able to use that, spin it as a tired and unaware boyfriend trying to please his somewhat difficult and possibly manipulative girlfriend. It’s not the _best_ option (that would be, of course, the film never having been made) but he can use it.

Jennifer Blake is a model. Good looks, charming laugh, a knack for high fashion. She’s graced a few magazine covers, gets consistently booked for shows, and perhaps she thought her famous if spotlight avoiding ex-boyfriend could take her places. Derek had broken up with her last week after five months. Apparently, it either hadn’t ended as amicably as one would have liked or Jennifer was trying to squeeze one last bit of fame out of her short relationship with a senator’s son. The video had leaked two nights ago from an “anonymous source” that is about as anonymous as a billboard. Stiles mentally marks down ‘social climber’ in his assessment of Jennifer. 

He might be able to use that too. Difficult, because the American public’s all about that upward social class mobility but not impossible. They tend to be judgmental of schemers. Gold digger, maybe. Derek’s got the good looks to get the media to fall in love with him. Slap on the broken-hearted eyebrows and a sufficient sob story and maybe this will all blow over. Stiles could contact the news outlets, tell them that the video was made without Derek’s knowledge, released without his consent, and that publishing it or continuing to provide access to it would definitely be an invasion of privacy. Then maybe, just maybe, the USS Senator Hale for President dream boat could still sail, with only a minor ding. He just had to make Jennifer Blake a pariah and get Derek on board. 

Stiles is still stuck a little on the details when there’s a knock at the door. Full on lawsuit, he wonders, or just threatening letter? Definitely no payments; that always comes back to bite you in the end. It’s an admission of guilt. Puzzle for another time, though. “Come in,” he says and straightens a few papers. He sometimes gets carried away with the mess when he’s focusing.

The door opens to reveal the man of the hour. He’s looking around the room in confusion, a small frown building on his face. He’s also absolutely stunning. Tongue dragging, knees shaking, can’t remember your own last name stunning—like his mother, like his sisters, like his whole damn family. It’s something that Stiles always seems to forget until he meets another Hale and gets pulled into their orbit. The Hales photograph well— _extremely_ well—but nothing quite prepares you for meeting them in person. There is just a presence about them that made your knees a little weak and your heart beat faster. “I’m looking for Talia Hale?” Derek asks and, oh, even his voice seems carefully calibrated to bring you in.

Stiles pushes the personal attraction to the back of his mind and offers his hand. He’s a professional. Employed by this man’s mother. This very attractive, devastatingly beautiful man’s mother. Who is equally attractive and devastatingly beautiful and the entire Hale family is one giant no fly zone. The media, though, is going to lick Derek Hale up like ice cream. Derek’s fashion sense seems to favor more Talia and Laura’s classic style than Cora’s punk, the tailored suit fitting his trim body in all the right ways and he’s respectably groomed, the stubble seemingly perfectly maintained to give him a little bit of an edge without verging into mountain man territory. He’s going to leave everyone begging for more if Stiles has anything to say about it. Handsome but shy middle son of a national icon, wanting to quietly support his mother and continue his work as a top-notch editor, victimized by a social-climbing ex-girlfriend. As narratives go, Stiles has run with a lot worse. “Stiles Stilinski,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh.” Derek steps forward and takes the hand. “Uh, Derek. Hale.” He follows it up with his mother’s blinding smiles and Stiles nods. Yeah, he can work with this. He’s going to have to lock his knees and keep from drooling but he’s used to it. The Hales, Lydia Martin—Stiles has had practice. Even if Derek does have cute little bunny teeth. Stiles files that away to ‘later.’ In case he needs to use it to pre-game an interview. Or pull it out when he’s alone sometime and—yeah. Definitely later.

Stiles gestures to the chairs opposite his desk as he steps around Derek to quietly shut the door. “Please.” He doesn’t need this getting any farther than it already has and if there’s one thing that experience has taught him, it’s never underestimate how far rumors seem to travel if left unchecked. “I’m, uh, the one who called you today.”

Derek’s smile dims to a lower setting. Stiles thinks that he can finally look at it and not go blind. “My mother…?”

“Is currently in a meeting. She’s expecting you for lunch.” In about an hour, though Stiles could totally make it later if he needed to. Derek finally sits down. “In the meantime, I was hoping that we could talk?”

Derek’s eyes drop to the desk in a move that’s almost shy in nature. Oh, that is adorable. “About?”

“Your mother’s re-election campaign.” One more term in the Senate, then Stiles was totally pushing for the White House. Talia Hale could do it.

“I…” Derek closes his mouth, taking a moment to think about what he wants to say. “I went to the Circle Gala,” he says softly.

“And your mother was very proud.” There are still pictures on website home pages of Derek dancing at the Gala while Talia beams in the background. That had been some great PR. Tons of mileage. Stiles had been running the media circuit with Laura at the time but even he had to admit that it couldn’t have gone much better. “Listen, Derek—can I call you Derek?—your mother? She’s a great lady. Awesome. Amazing. _Astounding_ , and those are just the beginning of the alphabet. She’s a phenomenal senator with great promise for, ahem, higher offices.” Stiles pauses and gives Derek a “meaningful look TM”.

“I know. I mean, thanks. I think?” Derek squirms in his chair, obviously uncomfortable, and they’re going to have to work on that before Stiles puts him in front of a camera. It feeds into the endearing shy thing Derek’s got going on, though, so maybe he’ll let Derek keep some of it. Talia Hale’s charming and good with people but her son is obviously not, preferring to deal with people on a small basis if his limited public appearances are any indication. Again, Stiles can work with that. It might even be something in their favor, another nail to put in the coffin that he wants to build for Jennifer Blake.

“We need to talk about the situation,” he says, trying to be delicate about it but knowing that he’s failing miserably. Hey. Every once and awhile you have to acknowledge the tap-dancing elephant. Otherwise, you just end up trampled.

Derek froze, that ‘deer-in-the-headlights’ look coming across his seriously perfect face. “Situation?”

“Yes.” Stiles nods. “The ‘Jennifer Blake situation.’” Derek’s face shuts down, smile dropping from his face like someone hit a kill switch.

“That’s really none of—“

“Oh, yes it is,” Stiles says, trying to cut Derek off before he hits Rage Canyon. Stiles needs Derek to see him as someone that can help, not an enemy trying to drag his skeletons out of the closet. “See, I manage Talia Hale’s re-election campaign. You are her son. Ergo, your problems are potentially my problems.” Oh, now, see, that’s not good. Derek’s face has gone from delightful bunny to scowling thunderstorm. They’re going to have to work on that, too, because _damn_ , those eyebrows can be _terrifying_. “Derek, I’m not saying this to—”

“Hale.”

“What?” They’ve definitely gotten off track. Derek is straight out glaring at him. Stiles wants to make a U-turn and go back to the start but he hadn’t gotten his position by avoiding confrontation. Regardless of how it makes you feel, sometimes it’s _necessary_.

“I never said that you could call me, Derek.”

“Oh.” Stiles’s thoughts stumble, but he gathers them back up and steps over the landmine. “Mr. Hale. Excuse my bluntness, but due to, let’s say, ‘certain indiscretions,’ we now have a situation on our hands that needs to be fixed.”

“Fixed.” Oh, that isn’t a happy voice. Stiles plunges on. Like ripping off a band-aid, if Derek needs to be mad at Stiles for telling him this, then he can be mad at Stiles, but they need to get it over and done with so they could move on and fix the problem. It’s shooting the messenger to be mad at Stiles but natural and Stiles is sure he’ll survive. He takes another look at Derek’s pissed-off face. Mostly sure.

“I’m a fixer, Mr. Hale. It’s what I do.”

Derek ducks his head down again. It’s reminiscent of his earlier move in that both involved him looking downward but Stiles gets the feeling that this has nothing to do with the earlier shyness and everything to do with some potential and previously unseen rage problems. Great. “You’re saying that you want to ‘fix’ my life.”

No, no that’s not a good conclusion to jump to. “Not your ‘life’—”

“To clean up my mistakes because otherwise I’ll damage my mother’s reputation.” Derek lifts his head and pins Stiles with a flat stare. Ouch.

“Mr. Hale—”

“Maybe there’s nothing to fix.” Derek’s hands clench on the arms of the chair. “Ever consider that? _Stiles?_ Maybe it’s just one more thing in a long line of disappointments.”

Stiles blinks and tries to get his bearings because somewhere in the last two minutes, he’s been left behind. There’s a story here that Stiles doesn’t know and that’s worrying. The background check had shown nothing, not even a parking ticket, but somehow Derek and he weren’t talking about the sex tape anymore. There were apparently more skeletons in Derek’s closet than one Miss Jennifer Blake and Stiles had no clue what they were. _Fuck._ “I don’t believe there’s anything that’s beyond fixing.”

Derek snorts and looks away again. “No, you wouldn’t.”

Well, if he doesn’t know all of the facts, then, sure. But Stiles honestly believes that everything has a solution somewhere. Some are just harder than others. “We _can_ move past this.” Derek shakes his head like Stiles couldn’t possibly understand and Stiles shoves back the small trickle of frustration that’s threatening to turn into a flood. He needs to know what Derek is hiding. His dad has always said that Stiles’s curiosity is his best and worst trait. Once Stiles sees a puzzle he doesn’t know the answer to, he has to poke and prod it until he finally learns its secrets. It’s a habit that’s served him well in the past. Sealed juvenile records, maybe? Could that be why Derek’s background check came up empty? The Hales certainly had enough money to bury a scandal, especially if Derek had been underage. “I’m not saying that it will be easy—”

“Is that what you do?” Derek leans forward, his eyes are narrowed and cold. It reminds Stiles of a wolf for some disturbing reason.

“Sorry?” Once again, Stiles is left picking up pieces of himself. He took a wrong turn somewhere. Derek Hale is a _minefield._

“When you fix things,” Derek growls, dark and dangerous. Stiles feels his heart speeding up despite himself. “You ‘move’ past it? Sweep it away like it never existed?”

He could lie. Derek would probably know. He could deflect. That, though, would probably be worse than lying. “Sometimes,” Stiles admits. He’d swept away an intern for Representative Yearling a few years ago. Not his proudest moment. Also the reason why he’d quit the Yearling campaign. Stiles couldn’t put his faith in the man. Stiles doesn’t think that Derek’s skeleton is an intern.

“And that’s what you want to do now?” Drinking and driving, maybe? That Talia’s influence and good name was able to cover for? “With our ‘situation.’”

Stiles gathers some of his papers and scoots them off to the side, certain that he doesn’t want to meet Derek’s eyes right now. He needs to deescalate this. “What happened was unfortunate—”

“It was _illegal_ ,” Derek says flatly.

“That, too.” Stiles acknowledges the point with a nod. He’s well aware. Yes, the situation is potentially damaging to Talia Hale’s reputation but it is first and foremost an invasion of Derek’s privacy and Stiles hasn’t forgotten that despite his responsibilities. For a private person like Derek, that must have hurt. “What Jennifer Blake did—”

“I’m not going to let you bury Jennifer,” Derek snaps and Stiles finally looks up. Okay, that’s surprising. Though probably not too surprising. The man did date her for five months and only broke up with her last week. He probably still has feelings for her. Stiles can appreciate that. 

“I don’t want to bury Jennifer.” Derek’s mouth is a hard slash across his face.

“But you will.”

Again. Lie? Deflect? “To protect you.” Tell the truth.

Derek snarls. “Protect your job.”

Stiles clenches his jaw tight, biting back anger. Yelling would be a very bad move, no matter how much he wants to do it. He’d lose their one chance to stay in front of this. Still, that was kind of personal. “To protect your mother.” Derek mouth drops open. For a moment, he looks stricken. “And you.” The look disappears, reburied under a scowl. Derek Hale doesn’t want someone protecting him. Why?

“I don’t need you,” Derek growls.

“Whether you need me or not, Mr. Hale, I want to help.” Stiles _will_ help, regardless of what Derek wants, but he doesn’t need to say that. Cornered animals are vicious and Stiles needs Derek to see options.

“It’s between Jennifer and me. Not you and me, not my mother and me, not whatever fucking trash site that fucking video is on and me, and definitely not between the fucking voters and me.”

“Is that what she thinks?” Stiles asks and it brings Derek up short, like a horse being reined in.

“I…” Derek looks away, lost. So that’s how it is, Stiles thinks. Derek’s still pining for Jennifer in some way. He doesn’t know why they broke up but evidently Derek’s still carrying the torch long after Jennifer flushed it down the toilet.

“She released a sex tape of you,” he says as gently as he can. It’s not an easy truth but it’s something that he thinks Derek needs to hear. “That I’m guessing was—”

“I know what she did!” Derek jumps to his feet, leaving the chair behind. Stiles braces himself for a moment but forces himself to relax when Derek shows no sign of vaulting the desk.

He continues. “Was filmed without your knowledge or consent.”

Derek stares at him, smaller than when he’d come in as his shoulders hunch, and Stiles knows that his instincts were right. Derek Hale had no idea that the sex tape had even existed much less that Jennifer would betray him in such a personal way. Stiles wants to wrap him in hug and tell him that it will be alright. It’s not the first time that Stiles has wished for a magic button to make horrible things go away, but it is the first time that he’s wished for it simply to stop someone else from hurting instead of looking to make his job easier. He doubts that Derek’s talked to many people about this, if anyone at all. It’s a lot for one person to hold onto.

After a long moment, Derek turns away, searching around the room but what for, Stiles doesn’t know, only that Derek doesn’t seem to find it because he only nods to himself and heads for the door. Which is the one thing that Stiles can’t allow him to do right now. “Mr. Hale, we still need to talk.” If Derek leaves, Stiles knows that he won’t get him back in. Stiles knows that Derek will let Jennifer win. 

Derek pauses, his hand outstretched for the knob. “I…” He lets his hand drop. Then his shoulders straighten, his back going ramrod straight and he turns back to Stiles. He’s different somehow, changed in a way that Stiles can’t put his finger on. Derek prowls towards Stiles, stopping at the edge of the desk. It’s at once terrifying and mildly arousing, neither of which Stiles wants to think about right now. He buries everything behind the blankest mask he can muster. Derek trails his fingers over the polished wood of Stiles’s desk and out of nowhere Stiles has the thought of what that hand might look like trailing over Stiles’s skin. “Why do you think that?” Derek asks.

Stiles looks up from his fascinated but inappropriate contemplation of Derek’s hand, hearing the edge in Derek’s voice. He’s wandered into another minefield though he doesn’t know how. “Why do I think what?”

Derek allows his eyes to meet Stiles’s and Stiles swallows. He feels like he’s the one being cornered now, like he’s some deer that Derek setting up to ambush. “Why do you think that she must have recorded it without me knowing about it?” 

Stiles spreads his hands, keeping his movements slow for reasons he really doesn’t want to consider but knows that he should. He also knows that ‘because you just told me’ isn’t likely to fly. “Because you never once look at the camera?”

“So you watched it.” Stiles eyes Derek, wondering how he’s supposed to respond to that. Of course he watched—know thy enemy and all that—but he can’t just come out and say that. Derek’s lip curls. “And you think I’m stupid.”

“I didn’t say that.” No, Stiles definitely did not say that. Not once during this has he thought that Derek was stupid. Unwise, perhaps, but not stupid.

Derek barks a laugh, sharp and sudden. “It’s that or a whore—”

“I didn’t say that, either,” Stiles interrupts, trying to cut that train of thought off before it has a chance to leave the station. Good _Lord_. Stiles doesn’t know when it happened but he’s stepped in shit that’s up to his ears.

“It’s one or the other.” Derek shakes his head. “Either I was too stupid to figure out what was going on or I’m a whore for going along with it.” And that right there is some _hella_ self-loathing. Once again, Stiles is wondering just what Derek’s hiding in his past. Besides the fact that Derek’s father died in a house fire when he was sixteen, there isn’t any family drama as far as Stiles knows. Peter Hale’s kind of creepy, but relatively harmless. It might have something to do with a relative, though? A close friend?

“Mr. Hale,” Stiles says carefully, trying to pick himself up out of the shit that he’s found himself in. “Derek. I don’t think you’re stupid and I don’t think that you’re a whore. I think you trusted your girlfriend not to violate your privacy.” And fuck her sideways for doing so.

“Violate _me_ ,” Derek corrects.

Stiles nods. “Yes.”

Derek smiles but it’s not a pretty one. It’s twisted, like its part of some cruel joke. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Oh, Stiles thinks. _Oh._

Fuck.

Derek’s father had died in that house fire because it had been set by Kate Argent. Kate Argent, an arms dealer, who was beautiful, blonde, and a convicted sex offender doing life in prison for arson, murder, and sexual conduct with a minor. There’d been no record of how she’d managed to gain access to the gate security codes. Stiles feels sick.

Derek slips around the desk, moving in closer, and Stiles takes a step back, wondering if he needs to run, if he’s triggered something in Derek. Derek settles against the desk, studying him. “See, Stiles, I’m stupid and a whore because I’ve already done this before.” He waits for Stiles’ reaction, for how Stiles’s face contorts with the sudden flood of horrified sympathy. Derek’s grin widens. “You didn’t know that.”

Stiles shakes his head. “Well how about that.” Derek leans in close, his mouth open and his eyes hooded. He drops his gaze to Stiles’s lips and in another lifetime, Stiles would want to kiss him. In another lifetime and another place, Stiles would. Stiles swallows and steps back again, bumping into his chair. Derek grabs each arm and pulls the chair forward, forcing Stiles drop into it and bringing it forward. “Something you didn’t know.” He sits on the desk and spreads his legs so that he can pull Stiles in close between them. Stiles kind of hates himself for how his heart jumps in response. 

Derek’s only a few inches from his face, daring Stiles to move, searching Stiles for weaknesses. Stiles distracts himself by wondering what color Derek’s eyes really are. Blue? Green? Gray? Do they change depending on the day? “So I guess it doesn’t matter, does it?” Derek whispers. “I’m already a disappointment.” He kisses Stiles then, a firm press of his lips that freezes Stiles in place. Is this…really happening? Derek’s hand cups Stiles’s face, tilting him for a better angle and Stiles’s heart beats out a mad rhythm against his chest. Yes. Yes, it is. Derek is kissing him—and God help him, but he starts kissing back. Derek rumbles in his chest and licks across Stiles’s lips before invading, shoving his tongue into Stiles’s mouth. Stiles follows Derek’s lead but tries to be his opposite. He’s gentle where Derek’s hard, giving when Derek demands. 

This is wrong. This is the office. This is Derek Hale, the son of his employer. This is a man who is in no frame of mind to be doing this. Stiles digs his hands into Derek’s shoulders and shoves him away. He gains only a few inches, Derek keeping the chair where it is, but it’s enough to give Stiles some air. “Derek?” he asks. He doesn’t know what question he should ask here. It should be obvious, but Stiles knows that it’s probably not. This isn’t just kissing as much as he wishes it were. They’re crossing lines that Stiles can’t even see.

Derek licks his lips in lieu of an answer and Stiles feels himself harden in response. Oh, God. He shouldn’t be here. Derek loosens his tie, pulling at it with one hand while the other keeps Stiles’s chair in place. He pulls the tie free and holds it over Stiles to let it slither into his lap. Oh, _God_. Stiles thinks that he should do something, say something, but he can’t think of what. Derek starts to unbutton his shirt, revealing smooth tanned skin and hard muscle and Stiles’s conscience finally catches up and kicks him in the ass. “What are you doing?” he squeaks.

“Whatever you want,” Derek responds. He grabs Stiles’s hands and puts them against his skin. Derek’s solid and hot and Stiles wants. “You thought you hid it?” Stiles stares. Had he been that obvious? Derek laughs and it’s like his smile, harsh and dark. “I know what I’m good at,” Derek says. He looks disgusted with himself but quickly hides it away under the heated looks again. He places one of Stiles’s hands on his inner thigh, running it up towards dangerous territory until Stiles stops it, just before. Derek touches Stiles’s lips with his thumb, drawing the bottom one down. “You want me.” He trails his hand over Stiles’s chest, slow and teasing as he heads southward. It’s so tempting to let Derek keep going, to do what he intends, but Stiles finds his conscience again. He stops Derek on his lower stomach, holding his hand there.

Derek tilts his head up so that their eyes meet again. Derek’s tongue flicks across his lip just like before and Stiles feels himself crumble. Derek cups him through his slacks. “You want me,” Derek repeats.

Stiles nods and exhales nervously. “Yes,” he says. It’s true. He can’t deny it. 

Derek makes quick work of Stiles’s belt, unbuckling it and tossing it to the side. He undoes the fly of Stiles’s slacks next, reaching in and teasing Stiles through his underwear. Stiles gasps and swears, squirming in his chair. Fuck, but it’s been a long time since he’s felt anything other than himself. He’s been caught up in his work, too busy to keep up relationships or even to try and he hadn’t realized just how much his body has been craving this. His bites his lip, looking for a little control and stops Derek again. Derek growls, frustration clear on his face. “Do you want this?” Stiles asks because there’s a worry that’s pricking against his skin.

Derek kisses him, desperate and distracting, but it’s not an answer. Stiles twists Derek’s wrist away from him. “Derek.”

“Please,” Derek whispers. He kisses Stiles again—his lips, his cheek, his jaw. Stiles thinks about all the ways that this isn’t a good idea. That he’s at the office, that this is his boss’s son, that Derek might not be ready for this. “Please.” Stiles caves.

“Yeah.” He cups his fingers around Derek’s jaw, fingers digging into the soft skin in an attempt to hang on to some bit of sanity. It’s hopeless. 

Derek frees Stiles’s dick, strokes it hard and firm, his thumb swiping over the head and Stiles is so turned on he’s leaking everywhere. “Derek.”

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice sounds like sex, how it curls over Stiles’s name and whispers of promises. Stiles lets him sink into it, taking it for what it is. Derek nuzzles at his throat, nose pushing against Stiles’s ear. “Relax,” he says, his breath blowing over Stiles’s skin. He pushes up Stiles’s shirt, baring the skin of his stomach and lets Stiles drip onto himself. His fingers rubs over Stiles’s cock, finding what makes Stiles groan, what makes him shiver, and what makes him gasp. Each little noise is rewarded with a kiss or a soft bite and Stiles stops caring about how much sound he makes.

Stiles arches upward as he comes, body leaving the chair. Derek jerks him through it, pulling out every last bit that Stiles has to give and making him splatter onto his bare chest. A few drops hit Stiles’s face and he flinches. Derek laughs, but it's different from before. It sounds real. Stiles thinks that he likes the sound of it.

In the end, Stiles is left worn out and panting, sagging back into the chair as Derek presses little kisses up his neck. “Oh,” Stiles murmurs as Derek finds a spot that makes him twitch. Derek gives him one last kiss and then leans back against the desk, putting space between them again. He’s hard, tenting the crotch of his tailor-made slacks but he makes no move towards dealing with it and when Stiles does, he leaves, sliding off the desk and moving a few feet away. He turns his back to Stiles, arms shifting as he rebuttons his shirt. Stiles swallows. This may have been the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him and he doesn’t even know if he’s allowed to feel good about it. He cleans himself with a tissue as best he can, grimacing at the stain on his shirt, and tucks himself back in.

Derek stands motionless, lost in thought, and the silence hangs uncomfortably between them. Derek’s tie is still hanging over Stiles’s thigh, so he picks it up and holds it out. “Um…” Derek turns, keeping his eyes on the floor, and takes the tie. He checks the length and re-knots it around his throat, putting himself back together piece by piece.

“Derek…”

Derek snaps his head up. He’s not finished reassembling himself, hasn’t had time to pick out a mask that fits. Gone is the sex god, the angry lover, the dutiful son. In their place is something broken. Stiles wonders if he’s seeing the real Derek for the first time. His breath catches because this Derek, broken as he is, is still beautiful. Stiles’s heart aches in a way it hasn’t done in years. Derek’s a beautiful, tragic masterpiece and Stiles has never hated anyone in his life but he suddenly thinks that he might learn to hate Kate Argent and Jennifer Blake, and anyone else that has ever hurt this man in front of him.

Derek’s face twists harshly, misunderstanding Stiles’s stare. “You don’t get to judge me,” he whispers.

Stiles startles. “I wasn’t—” Derek drops his eyes back to the floor, hunching in on himself again. Stiles steps forward, not questioning his instincts. He moves close to Derek but keeps a few feet between them, not knowing if Derek would welcome him getting closer. “I wasn’t judging you. And I wasn’t doing it before, either.”

Derek shrugs like he doesn’t believe it and Stiles is taken by the urge to _make_ him. Stiles calls himself a fixer, a problem solver, and standing before him is one of the biggest problems he’s ever seen in need of solving. It’s too big for him, he knows, but he can’t help but respond. “I was thinking that you were beautiful.” Derek keeps his scowl, glaring at the floor. Stiles gets it. He wonders if Kate said the same thing, if Jennifer did. “And that I hadn’t really gotten the chance to meet you. The real you.” Derek’s eyebrows shift and Stiles presses on. “And that I might really like the chance to do so.” He glances down at his ruined shirt and grimaces. “Talking, I mean. Not sex.” Derek finally looks up, his face softening in confusion though Stiles can still see the anger there, the self-loathing. He wishes for a magic button that could wash it all away. “Unless you want to. But not until later.” Much, much later.

“I…” Derek trails off and Stiles counts the seconds waiting for him to start again. He makes it to 73 before giving up.

“It’s, uh, it’s cool if you don’t want to.” Stiles rakes a hand through his hair and tries to feel like he’s not fifteen getting shot down by Lydia Martin again. He’s only partially successful. He’s blushing but at least he’s not trying to crawl into a trash can to hide so there’s that. “I can, yeah, wow, uh, take care of that—that—that other thing for you, too. I was thinking about threatening the website. You know, a little legal thunder and lightning. Show some teeth.” Stiles cuts himself off before he starts to babble and once again they’re standing in utter silence. Derek just staring at him and Stiles doesn’t know what that means.

The knock on the door startles them both, Stiles jumping nearly a mile high while Derek merely braces for impact. Talia pokes her head into the room and smiles. “There you are.”

Panic skitters down Stiles’s spine. Does Talia know? Suspect? How fired is Stiles right now?

Derek, however, steps around Stiles, perfect smile back in place, the broken man from a few seconds ago tucked away. “Hi, Mom,” he says. He gives her a one-armed hug and a kiss, taking care to avoid her make-up.

“Hello, Sweetheart.” She looks at Derek for a minute, her smile slipping into concern. “Is everything alright?” No, Stiles wants to say. No, it’s really not.

“Yes,” Derek replies and glances over at Stiles. “Stiles and I were just…talking.” Fucking, Stiles’s mind corrects. And fucking up.

“Oh?” Talia’s eyebrows rise. 

“About things.” Stiles blinks. Derek’s tiptoeing around the situation with Jennifer, trying to guess how much his mother knows, how much Stiles has told her. Stiles hasn’t told her anything but he wouldn’t guarantee that she’s entirely in the dark. Talia’s surprising that way.

“Things, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Talia rolls her eyes when Derek isn’t forth-coming with any more details and smiles indulgently at him. “Well, far be it for your mother to pry into _things_.” Some tension that Stiles hadn’t noticed before goes out of Derek and his smile kicks up a notch.

Mini-crisis averted, Derek holds out an arm for her. “Are you ready for lunch?”

“Absolutely.” She takes Derek’s arm and nods back at Stiles. “I’ll be back in an hour, Stiles.”

Stiles waves half-heartedly and gives the best smile he can manage at the moment. It probably looks stressed and half-constipated but that how he normally looks during a campaign so it’s fine. “Yep. Have fun.”

Derek turns his million dollar smile towards Stiles and Stiles feels his expression sour a bit. Derek’s going to walk out the door and Stiles is never going to see him again. He wishes that maybe he’d had a bit more time. Like, say, thirty or forty years. That’s about how long he’d need to even _start_ thinking about unraveling the Gordian Knot that is Derek Hale. “Stiles, tomorrow we can…talk about that thing? Both things?” Stiles blinks, wide-eyed because he must not have heard that right. But Derek’s looking at him expectantly, smile ratcheted down a few hundred thousand with the beginnings of concern and, oh, he’s waiting for an answer.

“Uh, s-sure?” He gathers himself up, hands fluttering like they have a mind of their own, snatching words out of the air. “Absolutely. Things. Both. Multiple things. I’m on it. I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow, Der—Mr. Hale.” _Fuck_.

“Derek.”

“Huzzah?”

“You can call me Derek. See you tomorrow.” He turns and leads his mother to the door. With their backs turned, Stiles lets his body contort in disbelief because, holy God, did that just happen? Derek—and, yes, he could call him Derek—was actually coming back? To talk about…things? The sex tape thing and the other…thing?

“ _Things_ ,” Talia teases as she and Derek exit into the hallway. “Such a wonderfully diverse vocabulary you two have. I see college was well worth the investment.” Derek’s response and her laughter fade away as they head towards the front lobby.

Stiles stumbles to the side, grabbing for the desk. He plants himself on it before he falls and takes a minute to straighten out his brain. Derek’s coming back—and for more than just what he should. Well, okay. That’s…good. Right? Stiles spins himself over the desk and tumbles into his chair.

Before then, though, Stiles has…things. Politic things. And others. Like finding a new shirt. And a good therapist.

And possibly a way to wipe the stupid smile off his face because logically he knows that he just tossed himself into the ocean but for some reason he feels like he’s flying.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic as originally planned was to be non-con (coerced). As I was writing it, however, it changed somewhat. It does, though, still exist in a gray area and is not entirely consensual.
> 
> Derek coerces Stiles into accepting a hand job at work even though Stiles keeps hesitating. Stiles eventually says yes but only after Derek has already somewhat forced the issue.  
> Stiles accepts a hand job from Derek even though he knows that Derek is not really in a good frame of mind for offering one as he's (not) dealing with his ex's betrayal and past trauma of the Kate variety.
> 
> Also, there are mentions of non-con (implied really) because Kate. And Jennifer records Derek without his consent.


End file.
